#Cuban Ladies in White

[4ft10tvlandfangirl]

You know what's incredibly upsetting? Seeing so many pro-Israel or pro-Zionist posts parrot that the only reason anyone could be pro-Palestine or call for a free Palestine is because they hate Jews.

I know what this tactic is meant to do and I know how making people apathetic, how discrediting their knowledge of a topic or questioning the genuineness of their empathy and other similar tactics are used to benefit the oppressive group but it's still pissing me off.

I am a descendant of enslaved people.

Our history lessons always begin with the slaughter & genocide of the indigenous peoples that were here first, primarily the Taino, who thankfully have a few descendants living in isolation along with the protected Maroon villages. It is normal throughout high school to take history trips to former great houses & plantations and see for ourselves the sites where our ancestors were brutalized and massacred; the weapons and tools of torture preserved and on display so that we knew but a taste of what they went through.

My university is built on the grounds of a former plantation. There are businesses and homes built on top of mass graves & on top of sites of slaughter. There is literally no escaping our colonial history because it touches everything. Our last names are not even our own! Most of us have English, Scottish and Irish last names given by the plantation owners to our ancestors. Or you know...because many children were the product of rape. We cannot accurately trace our true heritage more than 4-5 generations back because most families have no complete records.

A lot of you like to bring up grandparents. Cool. My great-great grandmother was the daughter of a mulatto free woman and a white Scottish sailor. She was white passing. Because land and work were hard to get here under colonial rule, she left the island for a better life with her husband who was a Cuban born mulatto and they ended up living in the US through WWII and after. They were considered an interracial couple (black & white rather than both being seen as mixed) and could not live in certain places because it was illegal. Papa couldn't find work, was treated horribly, because he had darker skin but Grandma found work passing as white and was treated much better. She worked 2-3 jobs to provide for them and their 5 children.

But, there were times when she would appear darker like if she was out in the sun too long or her curls would start to show and a Jewish neighbour/coworker suggested to her it might be safer to tick Jewish on forms rather than white if her race was ever questioned. I suppose due to that kindness the family formed friendships within the Jewish community where they lived & Grandma's eldest son actually married a Jewish woman. His kids and grandkids are all Jewish and they still live in the US.

I share this specific thing because I have very real concerns for those members of my family. But while I worry for them in this time of increasing anti-semitism and absolutely decry any verbal/physical attacks against them, I am still going to speak against things that are wrong. What Israel is doing is wrong. Of course as a non-Jewish person I can acknowledge I may misstep and if I say/do something that is genuinely anti-semitic I'll take the correction. But if your aim is just to intimidate me into silence it's not going to work.

And trying to tell me 'well black people are not welcomed there or black people wouldn't get treated well in Palestine' as if that affects the cost of bread. Guess what? Black people face racism everywhere. Even among our own and colonialism has a lot to do with that. That same grandmother, I was fortunate to grow up with her in the latter part of her life after she returned to the island and every time I went out with her there were questions of whether my family worked for her. Or why was I, this little black girl with this little old white lady as if I meant her harm. She had to say proudly, "This is my granddaughter." How other people view me or treat me isn't going to stop me from speaking up for what's right.

With the history of my people I could never ever ever side with the oppressor. Ever. Whether its here in the west or in the east, whether it's happening to my fellow black people, or any other group of people, I cannot in good conscience stand with the oppressor. My ancestors were forcibly stripped of their humanity, called savages, animals, barbarians and all of that was brutally beaten into them. That same language and similar acts of brutality are being used against Palestinians today.

You think you can cower me into staying silent on that? With unfounded accusations of hate? I refuse.

N.B. - my use of the word mulatto here is strictly to provide the historical context of how my grandparents were seen/classified and spoken of. It is not a term we use.

[cindol]

DIRTY DIANA !

syn — gojo didn’t know how much trouble he could really get himself into with a video vixen like yourself .

tags — @yunymphs @digitalsakoi

wc : 836

cw + — not mentioned but reader is blasian, cheating,reader is giving home wrecker, slightly ooc gojo, suggestive no smut but implied sex,

a /n : left on a cliff hanger because I love those .

Everyone around satoru told him before to never fool around with a video vixen like you. Geto had dealt many women in the industry like you and gave him a word of warning, even his manager shoko gave a small lecture, she really could care less what her client got up to but she’d be damned if he got himself in financial trouble.

But even with advice from his manager, friend deep in the industry and lawyer, those words from each of them just went in one ear and out the other. Nanami told him time and time again it would be bad publicity for the fiancé of a beloved Japanese actress to start an affair with a video vixen but he just couldn’t listen.

When he saw you on the set of his music video as one of the women who’d be in the background just for nice placement he had to speak to you. He saw you before on other j-pop music videos and some American music videos on YouTube but never got to see you in person but lucky for him, Shoko got her hands on you and was paying you handsomely for being here.

As you were fixing the clip in your hair you saw the star of this music video waving his hand and walking towards you till he was finally in your vision.

“You must be the cutie and focus of this music video hm?” Your voice was smooth, feminine and had a purr while sizing him up. Mostly looking him up and down at his pearly white teeth, white short fluffy hair and down to his tight black shirt paired with the light grey sweatpants he had on but what you took note of was that arctic blue crystal ring on his ring finger.

“What gave it away?” he joked, starting to banter with you.

“The crisp white hair and eyes gave it away.”

He scratched his head chuckling.“guess I’m a cocky ass with some taste hm?”

You giggled along while fixing the Cuban link chain around your neck. Gojo was thinking he was gonna like being around someone like you. Could you be slightly bad PR? Yes but you were fun to talk to and rib with.

“At least your soon wifey has a fiancé with some taste.” that got a nervous chuckle from gojo and a snigger from you at the effect of saying that. You didn’t know much about gojo, just what you saw in the magazines and media. And the one thing you knew he was the fiancé that bagged the beautiful astounding actress Tao Suzuki.

At this point gojo should’ve kept this level to a simple point of friendly banter between him and a gorgeous woman but just a person on set.

god he should’ve, he really should’ve but he just had to open his big mouth more to you throughout this night

“Well wanna have some lunch with this pretty fiancé? lunch bar isn't too far from us and we got a hour till we shoot again and my manager gets on my ass.” pointing his thumb to indicate it.

You let out a half suppressed laugh.“do you just take all your video vixens on lunch dates after speaking to them for six minutes? I’d be on your ass too if I was your manager.”

he heaved,“you don’t even know how tough my little lady of a manager can be.”

You shook your head with a pat on his shoulder.“maybe we should go now before your manager snatches you up then hm? Haven’t got a good bite of food since I got off this plane.” you didn’t wait for his rebuttal and walked ahead of him.

yeah, everything his lawyer and manager told him went through one ear and out the other because somehow, lunch turned into drinking wine at his house and skipping out on shooting his music video.

Maybe seeing your cleavage peek out when you were eating a strawberry sandwich sando had a hand in how now you were on top of him in his bed and he had his hands on your ass while locking lips.

Every so often satoru could hear his ringtone, his phone buzzing on his desk and made him separate his lips from yours with a slick saliva line.“shoko’s gonna fucking kill me…”

your eyes looked at his ring.“I’m sure that fiancé of yours will be ten times more furious.”

He sighed.“you know just how to say the wrong stuff.”

you grinned.“it’s my job here now cmere, kiss me more singer boy.”

the morning after he got a lot of angry emails and texts. all from his manager.

[happypedrohours]

Good morning, fellow Happy Pedro Hours partakers! We hope you had a great night and we're looking forward to the next one aka tonight, June 22nd!

The first pit stop after a night of fun with friends is definitely some hot drink to wake up and face the day, so we asked some of our writer friends what they think Pedro Boys would drink and they came up with some brilliant ideas that you will find under the cut.

Jack has neat black coffee because he doesn't see why you should add anything else. Except whiskey, of course.

Shane doesn't like coffee but he's been known to sneak a white mocha frappucino when nobody is watching.

Javi G, being very European, would do a cappucino in the morning but if he wakes up later in the day, he'd switch to an espresso with a bit of sugar in it.

Or Javi G would drink a cortado.

Pietro Alvarez will do a double espresso with almost an equal ratio of sugar.

Maxwell Lord skips the coffee because he's already way too wound up on a regular day, so maybe he'd go for a decaf or just some tea.

Marcus Moreno doesn't drink too much coffee in a day because it doesn't always agree with his stomach. He'll have a plain cup in the morning at time, but if he stops at a coffee house, he'll try a cappucino because Missy always raves about it.

Tim will drink black at the police station because the coffee isn't any good so leyt's not even consider that powdery creamer, but if he orders at a coffee shop, he'll sometimes go for some cream in it.

Joel Miller (pre-outbreak) drinks Folgers because it was on sale. He adds his cream and 2-4 spoons of sugar (depending of it he had to bail Tommy out of jail or back him up in a fight or threaten to fight a kid because they gave Sarah a weird look). Joel is that dad, we love him for it.

Joel Miller (post-oubreak) drinks any coffee he can find, even beans are welcome. He stays awake and doesn't have to deal with his nightmares.

Or Joel would drink weak American coffee in like a tub

Din might drink caf if Grogu has kept him up when he was trying to sleep while the ship was in hyperdrive, otherwise he sticks to water. Very practical.

Dave York is a man who "closes deals" so to speak. He has some fancy Italian blend that he tells his secretary to get him and he hides it from Carol and the kids because he wants to be the only one who has it. Also too expensive to share.

Or Dave York is a coffee snob, interested in different roasts and beans.

Ezra is happy to have anything that will keep him awake so he can keep an eye on his pod. Taste doesn't matter. If he's ever able to relax, he might like some caramel. It's not too fancy but not too basiceither.

Frankie drinks Lifer juice (black coffee). Dark roast, though, he needs to be wide awake. Benny was making taco jokes all night and he dozed on the couch and has a crick in his neck. We're taking volunteer applications to give him a massage.

Strong coffee for Frankie, I can actually see him going for like a triple or quadrupple espresso when given the chance.

Or Frankie takes his coffee just black and strong.

Oberyn would go for some tea or herbal infusion instead.

Dieter drinks any and every sweet thing you can put in six shots of expresso to keep him awake and with a grin for this next scene with the actor he left with one of his monogrammed butt plugs up their ass and did not call the next day.

Or Dieter drinks "extra everything, cream, sugar, any of those coffee syrups if you have them."

Lucien has Cuban coffee with his cigarette in the morning and the afternoon.

Javier Pena drinks it black with a spoon of sugar or two because the Senora says he needs some sweet. He's a sucker for pleasing ladies, old and young.

Or Javi P obviously drinks Colombian coffee.

Thanks to @avastrasposts, @nerdieforpedro, @lady-bess, @for-a-longlongtime for their thoughts!

Do you have other coffee order headcanons for Pedro Boys? If so, we'd love to hear them! Drop us a comment to share them!

[foundtherightwords]

As the Sun Will Rise - Chapter 1

Pairing: Grunauer (Overlord) x OFC, Beauty & the Beast retelling

Summary: After losing most of his unit in a disastrous D-Day mission, Derwin Grunauer returns to his hometown near Miami, body riddled with scars and heart heavy with guilt, only to find his neighbors shunning him due to his German name. He retreats into his family mansion and remains there, unwilling to rejoin the living, until the day Alba Reyes turns up at his door with a basket full of warm bread. As the daughter of a Cuban immigrant, Alba knows something of being an outsider, and when she offers to work for Derwin as his housekeeper, it is not only to pay off her father's debt to the Grunauers, but also because she feels some connection to the reclusive young man. When that connection develops into something more, they must overcome both the town's prejudice and their own doubts to find happiness.

A/N: My inspiration for this came from these lovely artworks that reimagine Beauty and the Beast in a 1950s setting. The idea of making the Beast a World War II veteran jumped out at me, and given that "Overlord" is a World War II movie, I immediately knew I'd write this for Grunauer. I based this on the original screenplay more than the movie itself (Grunauer's full name and the fact that he's from Miami are both in the script), since Grunauer actually survives in that. The title is, of course, a lyric from "Beauty and the Beast".

Warnings: period-typical attitudes (sexism, racism, prejudice), PTSD, some violence, non-explicit smut

Chapter warnings: period-typical sexism and prejudice

Chapter word count: 5.2k

Chapter 1

"I'm so glad the sugar ration is over, aren't you?" Mrs. McLeish said, peering at the rows and rows of cakes and pastries behind the glass.

"We all are, Mrs. McLeish," replied Alba, handing the gray-haired lady her purchase neatly wrapped in paper bags. "That'll be a dollar and sixty-three cents."

"Are you sure, dear?" Mrs. McLeish felt the bags, trying to remember what she'd bought.

"Of course. Ninety cents for half a dozen loaves of bread, fifty-two cents for ten ham croquetas, and twenty-one cents for three cheese pasteles," counted Alba. There had been no mistake—Alba knew this was only Mrs. McLeish's way to weasel some discount out of her.

Mrs. McLeish started counting out her money with excruciating slowness. "My Ted has been so looking forward to your bakes ever since he came back from the Pacific, you know."  

Alba smiled and reached into the display case again. "Well, here's a slice of tres leches cake, to thank Ted for his service. On the house," she quickly added. Mrs. McLeish's wrinkles immediately relaxed, just as Alba knew they would. Papi wouldn't like it, but they couldn't afford to alienate a customer now.

Mrs. McLeish was barely out of the door when the cheerful chime of the shop bell was drowned out by an obnoxious roar. Alba looked up to see a bright red Aston Martin screech to a halt across the street.

"¡Mierda!" she muttered under her breath. This bit of profanity earned her a stern look from the statue of La Cachita, the patroness of Cuba, on her altar set in a corner of the bakery. "Sorry," Alba mumbled to the statue. She tried to dip behind the counter, but it was too late. The driver, a tall, broad-shouldered man with raven hair slicked back, wearing a leather flight jacket that was too heavy for Miami in late June, was already striding toward the door. He pushed it open with unnecessary force, making the bell chime furiously in protest.

"Allie!" he declared, flashing a grin that showed his white teeth to perfection. "Just the girl I want to see."

Alba tried to pull her lips into the semblance of a smile and ended up with something more like a grimace instead. "Mr. Grant, good morning," she said. "What can I get you today?"

"Call me Gastin, dearest Allie," replied Grant, leaning against the counter. "How many times do I have to ask you again?"

"As many times as I've asked you to call me Alba, not Allie, Mr. Grant," Alba said smoothly. Grant's smile faltered, but only for a moment, before returning to full blast.

"But Allie sounds so much nicer! Allie Grant. Just rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?"

Ignoring his suggestive leer, Alba repeated, "What can I get you today? A pastelito, perhaps, or some croquetas?"

Grant shuddered. "God, no. Do you have any idea how fattening those can be, with all that cheese and butter and frying oil?"

It was on the tip of Alba's tongue to snap that he was in a shop that thrived on cheese and butter and frying oil, but she bit back the retort and simply said, a little impatiently now, "Then what do you want?"

"You know what I want, my dear Allie." Grant was now leaning so far over the counter that a bystander may think he was trying to reach into the till. "A date with you."

"I'm afraid I'm very busy at the moment," Alba said automatically.

Grant let out a derisive laugh. "Busy with what?" He gestured around the empty bakery. It was after eight; the first waves of customers had gone, which meant Grant had timed his visit to catch her specifically. He certainly hadn't driven all the way here from his swanky family mansion on Millionaire's Row for one of La Perla del Sur's pasteles.

Mierda.

"Come now, Allie," Grant continued, seizing her hand in a tight grip. "I don't understand why you keep working in this dump. When we're married, you'll have the biggest mansion on Miami Beach and never have to deal with all this misery..."

Alba's face tightened. For six months now, Grant had been hovering around the neighborhood and pestering her into going out with him, despite her making it clear that she had no time for him. She knew she was the minority in this. Most people would consider him a great catch. A war hero and the heir to a real estate empire, courting the daughter of a lowly baker, a Cuban immigrant at that? She should have been over the moon. It was true that she had been flattered by his attention at first. But she wasn't interested in finding a boyfriend, and she'd treated him the same way she did all customers, polite and friendly. Only when Grant started harping on about marriage, as if they were already engaged, that she firmly shut it down. Even then, he couldn't seem to take a hint, whether because he was too arrogant or too dim, Alba wasn't sure. So her politeness had turned into grudging tolerance and finally into barely concealed dislike. Still, he refused to leave her alone.

"Maybe I like the misery," she bit out.

Grant opened his mouth, but before he could come up with a response, an angry voice rose from the street. It was Mr. Olson, whose grocery store was across the street from the bakery, and whose front door was currently being blocked by Grant's monster of a vehicle.

"Who's the schmuck that parked his car in front of my store?" Mr. Olson shouted, waving his broom. "Move it before I smash your headlights in!"

Grant flung Alba's hand aside and ran out of the bakery without another word. Seizing the opportunity, Alba ducked through the swinging door that separated the front of the bakery from the sweltering back room, where two enormous ovens were constantly belching out steam and heat. She almost collided with her younger sister, Beatriz.

"Alba!" Beatriz exclaimed. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I need you to man the counter for me," Alba said.

"Why?"

"He's here."

"Who?"

"You know who. Señor Slick." Alba's lips curled in distaste.

"Really?" Beatriz craned her neck to look through the curtain. Alba glanced behind her. Grant was busy arguing with Mr. Olson, but she grabbed Beatriz's shoulders and positioned herself so Beatriz would hide her from view anyway.

Alba couldn't understand why Grant was so determined to woo her. She definitely wasn't as pretty as Beatriz, though they shared the same features and coloring. The same hazel eyes on Beatriz were bright and clear, while Alba's eyes couldn't seem to decide which color they wanted to be and ended up as a sort of muddy brownish green. The same dark curls on Beatriz were glossy and bouncing with her steps, while Alba's had a tendency to frizz maddeningly in the humid Florida air, so she mostly kept it under a headscarf. Beatriz's figure was all soft curves, while Alba's was straight and flat as a pond cypress.

And most of all, Beatriz, like other girls in their neighborhood, was always making sheep's eyes at Grant. He never paid attention to any of them though. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps he only set his sights on Alba because he liked a conquest.

But Alba had no time to dwell on all of that now. "Yes," she told Beatriz, "and you can ogle him to your heart's content if you man the counter for me."

Beatriz's face fell. "But Papi told me to make the delivery." She gestured to a basket, packed with loaves of bread in paper bags, a box of ham and cheese croquetas, and a box of pasteles filled with guava jam, still warm from the oven.

"Delivery? Where to?" La Perla del Sur Bakery did not do deliveries. Those who knew of their bread and pastries would line up outside its door before the opening time of six o'clock, come rain or shine. 

"The Grunauer place," said Beatriz.

Alba smacked her forehead. Of course. How could she forget?

The late Dr. Grunauer had been their landlord. When they first arrived in Miami from Cuba thirteen years ago, Alba's parents, Mauricio and Ana, had found a nearly dead town, brought to its knees by two great hurricanes and the Great Depression. They had rebuilt their lives alongside the city. They had found this place for cheap, and Dr. Grunauer, a professor at the university, had only been too glad to let them have it after the crash of the land boom. Mauricio had traded his suit and tie for an apron and worked tirelessly next to his wife to open this bakery. But it was difficult to curb the ambition of a high-ranking government official, even if the coup d'état of 1933 had stripped him of his power. Mauricio had borrowed from Dr. Grunauer to buy a vacant beachfront store, hoping to open another La Perla, to be run by Alba's older brother, Rafael. Then came the war, and Rafael joined the Air Force and never came back from the Pacific, and Ana soon followed him, so that was the end of that. The beachfront property was left to languish through the war, and in the end, Mauricio had to cut his loss and sell it for cheap.

Dr. Grunauer, too, had passed away a year before the end of the war. Mauricio was not one to ever forget a debt, and although Dr. Grunauer's only son, who had come home last year, never mentioned it, Mauricio had been sending him bread and pastries and even fresh fruits sometimes, hoping that he would not call in the debt any time soon.

Now Alba snatched the basket out of Beatriz's hand. "I'll go," she said. "You man the counter."

"But—but—" Beatriz glanced at the back, where Mauricio and the assistant baker, young Frank, were busy loading trays of shaped dough into the ovens. Alba knew Papi didn't like Beatriz to be at the front alone, despite the fact that she always drew a crowd, mostly of young men—or perhaps precisely because of that.

"Bea's too busy flirting," he'd once said to Alba. "She'll mistake flan for croquetas and sell her own shoes as pastelitos next. I need you there, to keep an eye on the till and tell me when we're running low on things." And so Alba had no choice but to grin and bear it, though she didn't have Beatriz's natural charm and ease with the customers, and a day working at the till always left her with crescents of sweat under her arms, sore cheeks from having to stretch them into unnatural smiles for so long, and a raging headache.

"The breakfast rush's over, you'll be fine," Alba assured her sister. "I'll be back before lunch." She rushed out the side door before Beatriz could raise further protest and draw Papi's attention.

"Be careful," Beatriz called after her. Alba wondered if the warning was meant to be about Grant or the Grunauer place.

As she wheeled her bicycle out the back gate and down the lane, Alba saw her best friend, Claudia Barron, watering her garden, the hose curving over her pregnant belly. Claudia had spent her whole life in their neighborhood of Cypress Grove. She'd grown up down the street, dated a literal boy next door, Marty, and after Marty came back from the war, they had gotten married and moved into a house on the same street. Sometimes Alba thought she would go crazy if she were Claudia, never going further than a few miles from where she grew up. Other times, she envied Claudia her straightforward life.

"How's Marty Junior?" Alba nodded at Claudia's belly.

"Kicking up a storm last night. It's this heat, I don't think he likes it." Claudia raised a quizzical eyebrow at the bread basket. "Where are you going with those?"

"Delivery to the Grunauer place."

"Some sweetener for Gruesome Grunauer, eh?"

"Don't call him that," Alba said, rolling her eyes.

"It fits him, though. Like father, like son. He's been back for what, a year? Yet nobody's seen him. He's locked himself away in that mansion with all those snakes and gators." Claudia shuddered. "I wonder at your dad, letting you go there alone. Why can't he or Frank go?"

"They're busy," Alba said shortly. "I have to go now."

Without waiting for Claudia's goodbye, she got on her bike and rode away. Claudia was a good friend, but she could be an awful gossip sometimes. "Gruesome Grunauer", indeed! Yes, it was true that Dr. Grunauer had always been rather strange. With his balding head, owlish eyes, and quiet, mumbling voice, he reminded Alba of a mad scientist, like Victor Frankenstein or Dr. Jekyll, and she, like the rest of the neighborhood kids, had been slightly afraid of him. The nickname had started when they found out he raised snakes and other reptiles on his land, and it stuck. There was a rumor that he even kept an alligator. Every Halloween, the kids always dared each other to go to the Grunauer place to get a glimpse of this alligator.

And then there was Mrs. Grunauer too. Apparently she had been bedridden, and nobody had ever seen her. When she passed away, shortly after Alba's family moved to Cypress Grove, people had whispered that Dr. Grunauer had poisoned his wife.

During the war, those childish rumors had persisted and taken on a more malicious tinge. The war hadn't been easy for Dr. Grunauer with his German name and German accent, and some people had even turned against the Reyes for their association with him. And now, with the old man dead and his son back at the mansion, more rumors had surfaced. They said young Grunauer had been badly injured in the war, and those injuries had left him disfigured. It didn't help that he never set foot outside of his home.

Alba never subscribed to the local rumor mill, but she couldn't help feeling a slight sense of trepidation as she rode her bike down the back lane that followed along the Tamiami Trail. Alba preferred this shortcut, which ran right through the cypress swamp west of the city. She had always loved the swamp, loved seeing the bald cypresses rising from it like majestic giants, their trunks dripping with ferns and orchids, loved watching the herons and egrets that waded amongst their roots, loved the thrill of sighting an alligator floating lazily over the dark water. Even with the occasional blare of a truck horn from the interstate in the distance, it still provided a quiet spot in the busy city.

This morning, though, Alba paid no attention to the beauty of nature. Leaning on the pedals, she only hoped that she'd made enough of a head start that Grant wouldn't be able to follow her in his car. She wondered how the Grunauer place had changed. She knew where it was, of course, though she'd been too much of a wimp to come right up to its gate. In her childhood memory, it was the grandest house she'd ever seen, as grand as the Palacio del Valle in her hometown of Cienfuegos back in Cuba. She also wondered what young Mr. Grunauer would be like. Though they were roughly the same age, young Grunauer had never been a part of the Cypress Grove gang—he had been sent to a boarding school in Jacksonville even before Alba arrived, and none of the kids in the neighborhood knew him.

Soon, the lane branched off into two even smaller trails, little more than footpaths lined by willow and cocoplum bushes. Rolling her bike down the right trail, Alba finally came to a clearing. The willows and cocoplums gave way to magnificent oaks covered in Spanish moss that stood on either side of the path like sentinels, guarding the mansion of her memories. It stood back from the path, a little aloof, a little wary, a queen surveying her empire, its white walls shining like a mirage against the dark canopies of the trees surrounding it. A porch held up by tall columns ran around the house, shielding it from the sun and prying eyes. A beautiful frangipani stood in the back, its branches, dotted with star-like blooms, reaching toward the house as if in adoration. If those oaks were the sentinels, then the frangipani was an attendant bowing down to the queen.

Alba shook her head. Such flights of fancy were usually Beatriz's purview; Alba herself was more likely to notice that the yard was overgrown, the porch needed sweeping, one of the window shutters was sagging, and the paint was chipping. A swing full of dead leaves creaked on rusty chains on the porch, adding to the overall abandoned air of the place. As she drew closer, she also saw a sign hanging crooked on one of the oaks, with "BEWARE OF DOG" scrawled across it. This mundane little detail dispelled any fanciful impression she had of the house, and instead of the palace of her childhood, now she only saw a sad, neglected place.

Alba looked around cautiously. There was no sign or sound of the dog she should beware of. Emboldened, she wheeled her bike past the rank of oaks and leaned it against the porch. The front door had no bell—Dr. Grunauer probably had gotten rid of it after the kids played too many games of ding dong ditch, and nobody came out here now—so she knocked instead.

No answer. She knocked again, louder, calling out, "Hello? Anybody home?" From somewhere deep inside the house, there was a bark. Although it was deep and rumbling, it wasn't the bark of a dog one should beware of. It was not ferocious or angry, only rather annoyed, like that of a dog that had been wakened up from a nap.

Alba reached for the door handle. It turned with some protest. She pushed the door open and stepped into a cool, dark front hall. Something crunched under her foot, and Alba looked down to find more dead leaves strewn across a hardwood floor that hadn't been swept in God knew how long. A door on her left was ajar, showing what looked like a living room overlooking the oak-lined drive. Next to this door was a staircase, its top disappearing into the dimness of the second floor. On the top of the stairs were some strange, pale shapes that looked like logs or a rolled-up carpet that somebody forgot to put away. Sunlight from the open door behind Alba couldn't penetrate the gloom, and thoughts of snakes and gators swirled around her head, making her hesitant to step beyond the little patch of light.

"Hello?" she called out again, her voice lost in the profound stillness of the house. "I'm from the bakery. Is there anybody here?"

There was that bark again, more excited than annoyed this time. In the hallway beyond the staircase, a huge shape emerged, silhouetted against the darkness. It was a dog, she could see that. The biggest dog she'd ever seen.

Alba stood rooted to the spot. She only had the presence of mind not to scream. Screaming would only agitate it further.  

The shape came into view. It was a great boarhound, so dark and glossy that it appeared little more than patches of shininess in the dark. It stalked toward her on paws as big as dinner plates, eyes glinting, nose sniffing, tail lifted in alert.

Then, slowly, that tail moved side to side.

Alba couldn't believe her eyes.

The huge dog was wagging his tail. He'd stopped by the bottom of the staircase, seemingly trying to make up his mind about her, but clearly he didn't see her as a threat.

"Here, boy," Alba said shakily, reaching out a hand.

The dog ran to her and almost bowled her over in his eagerness to sniff the bread basket she was carrying. She tried to lift the basket out of reach, but it was quite difficult—when stood on his hind legs, the dog could easily reach her shoulders. "Down, boy," she said. The dog sat and looked up expectantly at her with his liquid black eyes. Alba gave him her hand. He licked it. "Oh, you're just a big softy, aren't you?" she said, laughing in relief and kneeling to rub his ears.

"He's an idiot," said a voice above her.

Startled, Alba looked up. What she'd thought was a roll-up carpet turned out to be a leg encased in khaki pants, and the logs were the arms. A person was lying on the top of the staircase.

"Who are you?" he said. She couldn't see his face, but she could hear the scowl in his voice.

"Alba Reyes," she replied. "I'm from La Perla del Sur."

"La what?"

"The bakery. I'm Mauricio Reyes' daughter. We rent your store in Cypress Grove?"

There was a groan, and the shapes moved. The man was sitting up. The dog gave a little woof and bounded up the stairs to join him. Alba involuntarily craned her neck, trying to get a better look. His face was still half-hidden in the gloom, and in the light shining through the window at the landing, she could just make out a shock of sandy brown curls and a pair of dark, dark eyes. There was no sign of those disfiguring injuries that she could see.

As those eyes met hers, fragments of memories flitted through her mind—a pair of brown eyes, schoolyard noises, the sudden, bright pain of a split lip, and a voice, asking, Where did you learn to punch like that?

Before she could grasp it, the memory was gone, like the reflection on the surface of a pond being broken up by a pebble. The eyes on the top of the stairs were scowling at her again.

"Good morning," she said uncertainly.    

***

Derwin Grunauer was not having a good morning.

He'd woken at five, as usual. Even though he could now sleep in as late as he wanted, the habit developed after eight years of boarding school and three years in the army was hard to shake. He hadn't gotten up though. What would be the point? He had nowhere to be, nobody to see, nothing to do.

But Otto, who seemed to have a sixth sense of when his master was awake, had scratched at the door and whined, demanding to be let out, so Derwin had reluctantly gone downstairs, opened the door, and gave the dog his breakfast. For himself, he hadn't wanted any. His pantry had been empty since the day before, but he loathed picking up the phone to call the grocer. He knew he had to, eventually. Either that or starve to death, and Derwin didn't think he was brave enough or desperate enough for that. And so he'd made himself a cup of coffee with the dregs left in the pot and gone upstairs to mentally prepare himself, otherwise he would start panicking and stammering on the phone like an idiot.

Then his treacherous leg had tripped at the top of the stairs, making the cane fly out of his hand and sending him sprawling face-first across the steps. The fall hadn't hurt that bad—he'd been climbing as fast as his leg allowed, which was not very fast at all—but it had drained him of whatever energy he had, and left him angry and despondent. Angry at himself, at his throbbing leg, at the world in general. And despondent at life. He'd turned over and remained there, ignoring Otto's attempts to pull him to his feet. There was no point in getting up. There was no point to anything. He wished he could have stayed there until he melted in the heat and dissolved into the floor. Eventually, Otto had given up and returned to the kitchen to clean up the remnants of his breakfast.

He hadn't heard the knocks.

It was the smells that hit him first. The heavenly, warm, yeasty smell of freshly baked bread, the rich, savory smell of fried ham, and the buttery, sugary smell of pastries. His stomach growled.

Great. He was so hungry that he'd started hallucinating.

Then he heard the voice. Olfactory and audio hallucinations might be a bit much, so he cracked open an eye and looked for the source of the sound.

Somebody was standing in the front hall. No, not just somebody. A young woman. Wearing a sleeveless blouse and a sensible pair of slacks and sandals, with strands of her dark hair falling out of her headscarf. Sunlight was streaming in through the open door behind her, framing her like a halo as she looked up at him, her mouth falling open in surprise. She was too far away for him to make out the color of her eyes, but he could see that they were light and bright, fixed on him with none of the suspicion and hostility he was used to from other people, only curiosity.

Otto was licking her hand too. Traitor.

Still, Derwin refused to let himself be taken in. A lack of animosity didn't necessarily mean kindness. When he came home last year, after several months in St. Mary's Hospital in Portsmouth and a longer stint at the VA Hospital up in Bay Pines, where they'd tried and failed to get his leg back to working conditions, Derwin hadn't expected much. His father was gone, killed by the strain and loneliness of the war, and they had never been popular in town to begin with. He'd only hoped to settle down and have a quiet life. Yet somehow, what he found was even less than what he'd expected. People turned their backs on him in stores and restaurants, whispering to each other and pulling their children close wherever he went past, calling him Kraut and Jerry and worse. All because he had the misfortune of bearing a German name.

This young woman, whoever she was, probably hadn't heard much about him. The moment she did, she would turn and run, like all the others. And when she said she was renting the old store in Cypress Grove, it fell into place. She was his tenant. No wonder she was friendly. She couldn't afford not to.

"My father asked me to bring you some bread," she was saying.

Derwin's stomach growled again, so loudly that he was sure the young woman heard it from all the way at the bottom of the stairs. He grimaced, mortified.

The bakery... yes, he remembered now. In the past few months, he'd been finding bread and pastries outside his front door with a note saying "Compliments of La Perla del Sur Bakery". He'd been wary, but then he'd come across the name on his monthly bank statements and realized they were just trying to be nice to their landlord. The bread was good, and the pastries were phenomenal. Plus, it saved him from having to go to the store. They had tried knocking at first, and when he never answered them, they just left everything on the porch, like a silent offering to some faceless deity. Once, he hadn't found it until days afterward, when the bread had gone soggy in the humidity and the pastries stale. He'd eaten them anyway.

His love for pastries didn't stop him from feeling annoyed with this young woman for invading his space, however.

"Are you OK?" she asked after a while, when he didn't say anything or make any move. "Do you need help getting up?"

He grunted a refusal.

"Should I bring these into the kitchen for you?" she continued, lifting a wicker basket to show him. The mouthwatering smell intensified.

"No need," he mumbled. "Just set them down there."

"Where?" The woman looked around the front hall. There was no place to put anything, except for a side table piled high with mail that Derwin couldn't bring himself to open.

"Anywhere."

"Your dog may get into them."

"I don't care."

"I'm going to put them in the kitchen," she said in a voice that invited no further argument, and before he could stop her, she was walking briskly down the corridor. She tossed a piece of pastry to Otto, and he immediately followed her, tail wagging. Traitor.

Grumbling under his breath, Derwin pulled himself up by the banister and limped his way downstairs. If he didn't catch her in time, this woman may go through the entire house, and he couldn't have that.

He stumbled off the last step and almost ran straight into the woman, who was coming back from the kitchen.

"Sorry!" she exclaimed, catching his arms and helping him stand up straight.

Their eyes met, and Derwin found his breath caught in his throat for a moment. He'd been right—her eyes were light, bright green, gleaming like a forest pool in the shade, where the leafy canopy above is reflected in the quiet depth of the water.

Those eyes flicked briefly to the scar on his left cheek, before turning away, not out of disgust as Derwin had expected, but rather of embarrassment. She took a step back and let go of his arms.

"I've put the bread in your bread box," she said (I have a bread box? though Derwin). "I'm not sure when you want the pastries, so I've put them in your fridge. Heat them in the oven before you eat them, they'll taste better. The guava pastries will go great with some coffee."

That was probably the most anybody had ever said to him in over a year. Derwin stared at the young woman, not knowing what to say. She gave him a smile—quick and uncertain, but a smile nonetheless—and walked out with that same brisk, graceful stride, still followed by Otto, who was gazing at her adoringly.

"Otto, stay," Derwin said sternly when the dog looked like he wanted to follow the woman out the door. Otto reluctantly obeyed.

"Oh and, don't set the oven higher than two hundred degrees when you warm the pastries, or they'll get burned," the woman said over her shoulder, before closing the door behind her. A moment later, Derwin heard her bike rattling down the drive.

He glanced at Otto, who met his eyes with a wistful, reproachful look. "Don't look at me like that," Derwin said. "I didn't chase her off."

Leaving Otto in the front hall to whine and watch the figure on the bike disappear behind the oaks, Derwin limped into the kitchen to retrieve the pastries. She was right; they tasted much better warm, though he wouldn't offend them by pairing them with his dishwater coffee. Otto soon gave up his vigil and came into the kitchen as well, looking inconsolable. Derwin took pity on the dog and shared the ham croquettes with him.

"Just because she gave you pastries doesn't mean that she's your friend," he told the dog.

Otto always fell in love with anyone who showed him the smallest bit of attention. It was a terrible habit.

Chapter 2

So here's the Grunauer fic that I promised! It's my longest to date (82k, 20 chapters plus an epilogue), so I'm going to post it twice a week. If you want to be tagged when I update it, let me know, or you can just check back here every Tuesday and Saturday!

[roosterbruiser]

Hi, could I request a Bob x Reader blurb that's a mafia themed one? I leave the plot up to you but I would love it if there was something smutty about it, thank you!

𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐛 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐝 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛

"C'mere, doll."

Who are you to deny him?

Oh, that's right. You're the woman he's obsessed with, the one who keeps him reeling all night long at just the thought of your lips around his cock, the one who is always game, the one who's actually not very happy with him right now.

So you don't c'mere, doll. You stay put right where you are across the library, leaving all that mahogany and leather between the tow of you, your eyes swimming with annoyance and your lips frowning.

Bob's raising his brows at you expectantly, one hand stuffed in the pocket of his cashmere trousers while the other holds a fat cigar up to his lips. He's not used to people not listening to him right away; what he's used to is people scrambling to follow his direction before he's even given it.

But you aren't biting. He can tell from that indignant expression on your pretty, pretty face that you aren't even thinking about obeying.

And dammit if that doesn't make all the blood in his thighs rush to the head of his cock.

You stare at him. You're annoyed, honestly, but not angry. You two had a date scheduled, one you bought a slinky new dress for, one that had you watching hair tutorials and buying a new foundation. But at the last minute, Bob had called--claiming duty calls--and effectively cancelled your date in a phone call that lasted less than 5 minutes. Usually, you understood. Usually, you were much more forgiving. He was a well-respected man, a man people feared--but he was your Bobby. And because he was your Bobby, you let yourself get worked into a huff about him cancelling your date. You really wanted to go to that new restaurant, the one he claimed is impossible to get reservations for (except for the Bob Floyd, who would do anything to please his lady and also happens to be the son of Danny Floyd--like the Danny Floyd, don of the mafia). Really, you just wanted to put on your pretty dress and be complimented and doted on. Really, you just wanted to eat filet mignon with the man you love and then go home and fuck his brains out. And then maybe open up a bottle of that nice red wine you like so much.

But he hadn't even come home until ten minutes ago, well into the wee hours of the morning. And when he came through the heavy French doors of the library where you've been perched on the sofa waiting for him, he merely pressed a chaste kiss to your head and slumped on the couch to light up a Cuban stogie.

"Thought I said c'mere," Bob says, blowing that thick white smoke from his bitten lips as he tilts his head at you. "Deaf or somethin', baby doll?"

He stares at you. He knows you're upset--you're not exactly one that can hide your emotions, especially when they're because of him. You're in a fantastic dress, one that he would love to run his hands over and then promptly rip off your body, and there are still heels strapped to your feet. You've even painted your nails and done your hair up real nice. He knows, just from looking at you, that you put time and effort into getting ready for the date that he cancelled on a short phone call. He really didn't want to--it was something that was out of his control--but duty really did call.

"Make me," you taunt, completely serious. You're not smiling, there is no playful glint in your eyes. You mean it. You won't come to him unless he makes you.

And boy if that doesn't make his heart rate speed up.

But Bob can play it cool, even if he knows the night will end with him between your legs, coaxing you into summing one more time, doll, c'mon--I know you can do it. So he leans back further into the couch, not breaking his eyes from yours.

Even at the end of the day, a day that dotted his shirtsleeves with blood and caused a whole lot of trouble for his family, he still looks fucking gorgeous. His hair mussed from his fingers running through it, his eyes drooping with exhaustion, his cheeks sunken in slightly. There's that delicious amount of scruff on his cheeks, which he usually keeps well-groomed.

He finishes his entire cigar, stubbing it out when it's merely a butt. And you stand there, watching him watching you, neither of you speaking.

But then he stands up, rolling the sleeves of his button-up to his elbows, and fixes you with a look that makes your knees weak.

"Want me to make you, doll? Or you wanna listen real good so we can both get what we want?"

You shiver, but hold strong.

"What I wanted was to eat steak tonight and have you take this dress off me," you snark.

He smiles.

"I can make one of those things happen," he says.

You bite a smirk, refusing to give in.

"Freezer's empty," you say absently, raising your brows.

"Shame," he says lowly, slowly crossing the room to where you're standing with wobbling knees. "Guess I'll just have to do the other thing, then, huh?"

here is my tag list!!

[yuinterrobangapologist]

Okay, pet peeve rant.

Cassandra Cain is an inherently racist character.

The reason fans ignore this is based on a core part of her character they ignore.

Cass's martial arts skill comes from David Cain's training. Her ability to read body language is essentially a metability she received from birth from Lady Shiva.

That's actually the final crux of the Batgirl comic. We find out Cain specifically murdered Lady Shiva's sister and raped Shiva as breeding stock because she can read body language. Cass inherited that genetically, she was not taught that by Cain's training.

The East Asian girl was given the meta ability to be good at martial arts. Please tell me you understand that is just as racist as making the al Ghul's evil ambiguously brown rapists and assassins and terrorists. Please tell me you understand that is just as racist as Asian!Tim and Latino!Jason fanon.

And the thing is, it's well written. That story in Batgirl where you see Shiva explain her trauma in a way where she's retconned it in her head as not traumatic is an amazing breakdown of Shiva's character, it helps solidify that sexism and racism were parts of David Cain's abusive ways as a whole, and adds further conflict to Cass's already deeply internal struggles of dehumanization, and adds a level of complexity to her murdering Shiva at the end of the plot.

Something can be well written and horrifically bigoted at the same fucking time. Some bigots are incredibly fucking talented. IDK enough about Cass's literary conception to say for certain who is to blame for this racist characterization, but pretending it isn't racist is simply a part of the long line of (white) people pretending East Asians are only POC in theory, and that the racism they face is less impactful and harmful as racism against other ethnic minorities.

Look, I fucking love Cass. Again, she's a well written character. And assuming I ever write fic again, she's one of the characters I'm most excited to revisit. But we talk so much about how racism was an inherent part of Damian, Dick, and Talia's stories, because it was also bad writing, and giving good writing a pass on being insulting and fascist.

And that's how effective propaganda works.

BTW Chinese and North Korean (among Russian, Iranian, Saudi, and Cuban) Americans are now barred from owning land in at least three states, so I'm shutting down any East Asian racism-apologia immediately.

[jiangwanyinsimp]

An Incomplete (and Very Long) list of thing Edwin Payne missed while he was stuck in Hell

This list emerged because I was talking about how he would have missed the end of World War One and then the list kept going. It is not complete or in order, and is provided simply for posterity

ww2

spanish flu

the hindenburg disaster

the rise of public radio

Irish independence

fast food as a concept

the hinterkaifeck murders

the extinction of the california grizzly

the discovery of Tutankhamun's tomb

television

jet aircraft

supersonic aircraft

the moon landing

THE OFFICIAL FOUNDING OF THE SOVIET UNION

the jazz age

surrealism

the first woman to swim the english channel

the BBC

Amelia Earhart

Tintin

the discovery of Pluto

the crash of airship R101

the founding of porsche

the geneva convention

UK abandonment of the gold standard

the discovery of 22 elements on the periodic table

technicolor

Australia starting and losing the Emu war

the creation of the Royal Christmas message

the Great Depression

FM radio

the first canned beer

pre-sliced bread

the recognition of stress as a biological condition

the extinction of the thylacine

the destruction of the Crystal Palace

the first full feature length animated film (Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs)

the nylon bristle toothbrush

Batman

the last use of the guillotine for an official state execution

Gone With the Wind (the book AND the film)

the founding of Greggs

Looney Tunes

the discovery of the Lascaux cave paintings

Agatha Christie's works

Cheerios

the discovery of nuclear fission and all subsequent nuclear discoveries

the airplane ejection seat

The Little Prince

LSD

the lifting of the prohibition of married British women working as teachers

the disappearance of flight 19

the first formula one grand prix

Mensa

the invention of the magic 8 ball

the Doomsday Clock

the AK-47

the first commercial microwave

the Kinsey reports

the first time Idaho Fish and Game parachuted beavers into the wild

humanity's entry to space

the beginning of the broadcast of the Archers (the longest running present day drama by number of episodes)

the Korean War

the polio vaccine

the first nuclear powered submarine

The Lord of the Rings

Moomins

transistor radio

the TV dinner/ready meal

ICBMs

the entire life of Elvis Presley

Kermit the Frog

My Fair Lady (the film and musical adaptations)

Grace Kelly's wedding

the Entire Life Of Marilyn Monroe

the Beat Generation

Eurovision

Helvetica typeface

the peace symbol

the Cod Wars

computer games

Dyatlov Pass incident

Barbie

Missile Mail

the Declaration of the Rights of the Child

the MOSFET

particle accelerators

the Beatles

the recovery of the Vasa

the first Six Flags

Breakfast at Tiffany's

Catch-22

the Vietnam War

Silent Spring

The Rolling Stones

the night of the long knives

Vatican II

James Bond

the Cuban Missile Crisis

Thích Quảng Đức's self-immolation

the "I Have A Dream" speech

JFK Assassination

the smiley face

Mary Poppins (1964)

IntelSat

the last British execution

high speed rail

the first time "fuck" was said on british tv

the Moors Murders

the Grateful Dead

the British parliament decriminalizing homosexuality

most of the literary career of Pablo Neruda

Fleetwood Mac

the Parker Morris Standards

the end of steam passenger travel in the UK

Led Zeppelin

Earth Day

the first temporary artificial heart

the first person to row an ocean solo

Woodstock

the Zodiac Killer

the nationalization of Rolls-Royce

decimalisation of UK currency

the first e-book

the first microprocessor

DB Cooper

the first email

the Biological Weapons Convention

Watergate

the start of the Troubles

The Joy of Sex

all attempts to climb Mount Everest and the eventual first ascent

ABBA

the invention of the Rubik's Cube

the Moorgate tube crash

the first Cricket World Cup

the global eradication of Smallpox

Star Wars

the Tenerife airport disaster

the discovery of the rings of Uranus

Red Rum winning three Grand Nationals

the Concorde

the start of the broadcast of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

Jonestown

Synthetic insulin

the Thorpe affair

the release of God Save the Queen by the Sex Pistols

Monty Python

the election of Margaret Thatcher

Star Trek

Iron Maiden

the incident where the dingo ate a baby in Australia

the end of iron and steel production in the UK's Black Country

the first London Marathon

Charles and Diana's wedding

the church of England votes to elect women to holy orders

the 1981 UK tornado outbreak

the first child born by IVF

the Falklands War

the raising of the Mary Rose

the invention of ciabatta bread

the discovery of the Titanic

the King's Cross Fire

Top Gun

Lockerbie bombing

[dear-indies]

Hi & thank you for your help! I’m looking for a female faceclaim between the ages of 24-34 that has more of an edgy, badass, almost vampiric vibe to her rather than something cutesy.

FKA twigs (1988) African-Jamaican / White, possibly Egyptian - showed up for Mustafa's Artists for Aid Concert in London (Sudan and Gaza).

JuJu Chan (1989) Hongkonger - in Wu Assassins and Fistful of Vengeance.

Úrsula Corberó (1989) - in Money Heist and Snake Eyes.

Rina Sawayama (1990) Japanese - is bisexual and pansexual - has spoken up for Palestine!

Damaris Lewis (1990) Afro-Kittian - in Titans.

Sarah Kameela Impey (1991) Indo-Guyanese / White - in We are Lady Parts - has spoken up for Palestine!

Ruby Soho (1991)

Melisa Aslı Pamuk (1991) Turkish - has spoken up for Palestine!

Shotzi Blackheart (1992) Filipino and White.

Hari Nef (1992) Ashkenazi Jewish - is a trans woman - has spoken up for Palestine!

Abadon (1992)

Jessica Henwick (1992) Chinese Singaporean / White - in The Matrix.

Sky Ferreira (1992) Ojibwe, Cree, Chippewa Cree, Cheyenne, Brazilian of Portuguese and possibly other descent, Galician Jewish, Bukovina Jewish, White - singer and actress - has Chronic Lyme Disease.

Deb Never (1993) Korean - is gay.

Pınar Deniz (1993) Turkish [Lebanese] - has spoken up for Palestine!

Mina El Hammani (1993) Moroccan - has spoken up for Palestine!

Taylor Momsen (1993)

Jordan Alexander (1993) African-American and White - has spoken up for Palestine!

Mia Khalifa (1993) Lebanese - is bisexual - has spoken up for Palestine!

Zheani (1993)

Devery Jacobs (1993) Mohawk - is queer - has spoken up for Palestine!

Slick Woods (1993) African-American - is bisexual.

Dani Miller (1994)

Natasha Liu Bordizzo (1994) Chinese / White - in Ahsoka.

Lyrica Okano (1994) Japanese - in The Runaways.

Emma Dumont (1994) - in The Gifted.

Lily Sullivan (1994) - in Romper Stomper and Evil Dead Rise.

Coty Camacho (1995) Mixtec and Zapotec - is pansexual.

Kehlani (1995) Filipino, African-American, Blackfoot, Cherokee, Choctaw, Mexican, White - is a non-binary womxn and a lesbian (she/they) - has spoken up for Palestine!

Sasha Calle (1995) Colombian.

Adeline Rudolph (1995) Korean / German - in Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, Resident Evil.

Heather Baron-Gracie (1995)

Tati Gabrielle (1996) African-American, ¼ Korean.

Jasmine Sokko (1996) Chinese Singaporean.

Ruth Codd (1996) - is an amputee.

Emma Mackey (1996) - in Sex Education.

Rhea Ripley (1996)

Lauren Jauregui (1996) Cuban [Spanish, possibly other], likely some Basque - is bisexual - has spoken up for Palestine!

Mei Pang (1996) Malaysian-Chinese.

Kiana Ledé (1997) African-American, Swedish, Mexican, Cherokee - has spoken up for Palestine!

070 Shake (1997) Dominican - doesn’t like to put labels on her sexuality - has spoken up for Palestine!

Blair Lamora (1997) Ojibwe and Argentinian.

Sierra McCormick (1997)

Juliette Motamed (1997) Iranian - has spoken up for Palestine!

Ethel Cain (1998) - is a bisexual and trans woman - has spoken up for Palestine!

Andy Blossom (1998) Chinese.

Doechii (1998) African-American - is bisexual.

Brianne Tju (1998) Chinese / Indonesian.

Lauren Tsai (1998) Taiwanese / White.

Kenna Sharp (1999) - is a lesbian - ha spoken up for Palestine!

Baby Storme (2000) African-American.

Hope this helps!

[zenaidamacrouras1]

hi i have another question about hot neighbor. rose seems to be written as black biracial and everyone else seems to be written as white. i was curious about this choice for her! i think weirdly as a black reader it made me think a lot about what her life would be like if her black parent was around, since being black in an all white space/family can be isolating. (there is no call out incoming i swear, i was just curious! i love the story!)

I'm so glad you asked! Yes I did intend for Rosie to be multiracial, and yes I did kind of drop the ball on filling out her world with characters that look like her.

So this post got bonkers long because it made me think of a lot of things. I realize this maybe looks like I am feeling defensive, but actually I just really enjoyed talking about this. I know I am not a perfect author, but thinking about useful things makes me hopefully less imperfect. Sorry that 90% of this is irrelevant to your actual question.

More below the more.

So this fic is weird because it has a small core cast, and yes all of them are white but Rosie!

Then it has this big cast of barely there neighbors - who are very very background in the fic, but I think all of them that speak are people of color except Eloise/Elsie/ukulele lady/cookies lady (this is one person).

So though the fic didn't address it (that's on me) I imagined Mrs. Rodiguez as Afro-Cuban and the jaded teens are Black. Exercise Grandpa is Chinese. I actually had a scene with Santiago and Mrs. Rodriguez arguing about Mexican vs. Cuban pronunciation which I cut despite spending hours on it, it felt distracting. So poor Santiago never got a speaking gig.

Side note!

I have some basic diversity things I try and do in all my multi-chapter fics. I try to make them all pass the Bechdel test for women (two named women talk and not about a man) as well as for race (two named people of color talk to each other not about race). I don't think they all pass both tests, for the record, esp my earlier ones.

I also like to always have an Ace/Aro character as well as a trans character, someone that uses them/them pronouns and I like to have a character whose first language isn't English. These are, to be clear, incredibly low bars for representation.

All this is partly because I value diversity and partly because that's what real life looks like for me, but since I write about two white men, based on the MCU which has a LOT OF WHITE MEN, I will miss things if I don't have a mental list.

Also for fun almost all of my fics include a reference to Bucky resembling a mermaid and a Lord of Rings reference.

Okay that's just random author notes. I do love to think about and talk about these things. I don't think this makes me a good person or anything magical. Just sharing this cause as an author this is interesting to me so maybe it is to others.

So! Your actual question :)

I had initially had Rosie as mixed race cause, honestly, statistics. The fic is set in Brooklyn. It's a diverse place. It's super likely that Steve would have a hook up with a guy with textured hair and brown skin, and since his whole genetic code is submissive as hell, his kid is gonna have curls and melanin. I actually pictured the mystery dad as Latino, but like many mixed race kids, people are gonna see Rosie as Black. And I am fine with whatever read on the mystery dad because I left it very vague.

I never saw her other dad as in the picture. It's just not what Steve wanted at that time. One reader asked if her dad was Sam Wilson and in my head Sam and Steve were college besties but Sam moved to DC. But again I don't care if someone wants to imagine that!

One of the reasons this fic got put on the back burner for a year was because I was gonna be way more thoughtful about Rosie's race. I was going to bring in Uncle Sam and Grandma Wilson and maybe swap out Wanda for a non-white character, and Steve and Bucky were going to have a few conversations about it.

And then, and this is real, I simply did not, my friend. I ran out of spoons.

I had Sarah Rogers as dead and Mrs. Darlene Wilson had some of that Grandma role. When I resurrected Sarah, which I think was very good for the story, sorry Mrs. Wilson, Grandma Wilson got cut. 😭

At this point I suppose I could have made Rosie have a white mystery dad but again. It's Brooklyn. Just. Statistics. And I already had a picture of her in my mind and I loved her precious little curls too much.

I imagined a lot of conversations happening off screen more or less. I imagined the Jaded Teens giving Steve shit because he doesn't know how to style Rosie's hair at first. I imagined Mrs. Wilson inviting them over for holidays when Sam is in town and Steve is the only white person there.

I imagined Rosie getting beaded braids for her first day of kindergarten (per the recommendation of the Jaded Teens) and Ruby being jealous as hell that she can't get beads because her hair doesn't have enough texture and also appropriation Ruby.

I also think we can trust Steve to 1. Fuck things up, bless his disaster heart and 2. Absolutely try his best to be thoughtful about raising a biracial kid and in the end do more things good than not. My confidence that Steve was doing a great job off screen made me lazy about what I ended up including.

In sum: I also thought a lot about Rosie's race and the importance of her having strong Black and Latino role models and then did not work any into her immediate family. Which is of course a real dynamic of many kids in the world, as you note! But we can expect Steve to want to do better for his daughter.

It is, of course, my own privilege and perspective as a white person that influences my author choices. No, not everything is ever going to fit. Something will always need to go.

It's a legit thing to notice and feel some tension about that for this fic, because it's definitely the case that a more nuanced approach to race was one of the things I let slide to the cutting room floor. It wasn't malicious at the time but I did actually notice later and feel regret, but not enough to re-work the story.

In retrospect, I managed to fit in Bucky fixing not just a microwave, but also a dishwasher! Clearly I could have worked in more discussion of race somewhere. 🫠🥴🙃 Not that I would cut either appliance scene. They are very dear to me. In large part because of my cultural bias!

Also it sucks extra because I hear people noting that it is not always easy or comfortable to be a person of color in such a white fandom, so I am sorry for this fic adding to that cognitive dissonance.

So thanks for asking! Sorry for all the extra crap I wrote that wasn't actually answering your question! I appreciate you taking the time to mention it!

❤️🧡💚💙💜

[hyunip]

PRINCESS PEACH

————•————•————•————•————•

https://eren-x-pregnant!-black!-reader.com//:hyunip

A/N: Y’all know how I feel about pregnant reader. Gotta show this some love. And I like the thought of marriage.

MASTERLIST[needs to and will be updated]

————•————•————•————•————•

“[I] love you baby..” your husband said in a soft tone, with a gentle grasp on your chin, feeding you gentle pecks to your lips non-stop.

You were sat comfortably on the soft cushions of your cream colored couch and he stood in front of you, bent to your height.

Soothing and light touches to your cheek and gentle rubs on your belly had you melting inside. But you still were confused as to where he was headed at this time of the night. His keys grasped tight in one hand, while his other remained on your chin.

He was dressed lazily but decent enough to go out; a black compression shirt that outlined the curves of his torso and the muscles he’s been building up, a pair of black basketball shorts, a silver Cuban link chain with a charm of your initial on it, and a black pull string bracelet on his wrist made by your oldest daughter—16, to be exact. And to top it off was a pair of white socks and Nike slides.

His hair was tied back with strands of hair falling in front of his face and a few falling at the sides of his head. He looked so fine. His physique was slim and over all healthy. His jade green eyes and his bushy , but neat, brows were something you found beautiful. Like they had their own definition of beautiful written in the dictionary.

You placed your hand at the back of his neck, holding him closer to you and slightly deepening the kiss before finally pulling away to look him in the eyes with your big brown doe eyes and a big smile on both of your faces “I love you more, darling” you said and gave him another gentle but passionate kiss. His hands rested on your belly, rubbing the baby bump with his thumb slowly, making sure to be gentle as he kissed you back; equally gentle and passionate.

This moment—a loving one—was one you didn’t want to end. One you refused to let him walk away from. But whatever he had to do might’ve been important, so you had no choice but to let the moment end with a kiss to your stomach, along with a few loving words to the baby from Eren “And I love you too, baby boy” he said, leaving a trace of kisses down your belly. You sat back and watched as he kissed all around while mumbling sweet things to the baby.

You were so happy you would get to spend the rest of your life with this man. The man you knew wouldn’t leave his kids behind. Until death did you part.

————•————•————•————•————•

And that, Ladies and Gentleman, was PRINCESS PEACH, by HYUNIP

Just a little something for Eren. I’m trying to empty out my drafts (after this I have ten left :)

[justaboymadeofhoneyandglass]

OKAY SO A RANT FOR YOU

I'll do it on my hcs of the marauders ethnicities and nationalities hehehe since we were talking about it earlier

starting off with the girls because LADIES FIRST/lh

Marlene— I see her as German or Korean (maybe both for that matter) I saw her as German first originally, and like I love it

I also saw her recently being hc as Korean and I thought that was fitting as well

and I think she was born and raised in England, but her parents always took her on trips back to Germany or to Korea to learn about the cultures and see their extended family as well

she would definitely be bilingual, but no one would realize until one day she just whips it out, and everyone is stunned

Dorcas— Haitian/cuban, she is a Caribbean girlie all the way

Dorcas can fluently speak créole and Spanish, French as well

She was born in Haiti and her parents had her live there until she was like 5 and then brought her to live in England with them

Lily— English/Irish, born in england

but I like to think that her father was born and raised in Ireland and had the thickest accent and so because of her growing up with her mother's English accent and her father's Irish accent, she has this combined accent from the both of them

Mary— I think she could be Nigerian, though I haven't thought too much about Mary (Shame on me ikik 😔)

She was born in England but she lived with her grandmother for a while bc maybe her parents died(?) and then when she got older she moved back to England for school

Emmeline Vance— I actually know nothing about her so I'm open to whatever hcs ppl have for her

I usually see her fancasts being Asian but I'm not sure where in Asia I think she'd be from

Pandora— Mexican/French or Brazilian/French

u told me about Mexican rosier twins earlier and I can't not get that out my mind

I love it sm

they were born and raised in France though, moving to England when they were 12-13 maybe

Sybil— I got no clue here, I'm thinking maybe polish? I'm not sure

she was born as raised in England tho, that's for sure

Bellatrix— Haitian/French

I HAVE A WHOLE THING FOR THIS

Cygnus had an affair(a one night stand) and the woman got pregnant and then came bellatrix, and because she technically had Cygnus' blood, she was partially "pure" so he had to take her in

but the rest of that family is white(you can't convince me that the older generations of the Black Family weren't racist— ironic bc of the name but I digress) and therefore Bellatrix always stood out yk

but she could fluently speak French, her French is honestly better than her English (bc she wanted to be accepted so badly she leaned more into learning french bc it was what her family valued)

she was born and raised in England

Narcissa— French, born and raised in England

Druella was french, Cygnus was French and there you get Narcissa (this sounds so plain after every I wrote for Bella but 😭)

Fluent in French and English

Andromeda— French, born and raised in England

Can speak French, but not as well as her sisters, but knows more than enough to get by

Alice— Italian, born and raised in Italy but moved to England for Hogwarts

idk why but she just seems Italian to me

Rita— kill me but she's so american, in terms of nationality

I think she'd be Greek and dutch ethnically though, but can't speak either of those languages (she can read and write Greek tho, just can't speak it well)

BUT SHE'S SUCH AN AMERICAN 😭😭😭 IM TELLING I (sincerely, an American)

she moved to England though, cause 1. her parents are loaded and 2. she begged hard enough

okay I think that's all the girls (I will sob if I missed one—)

now for the dudes

Remus— Welsh/English, born and raised in Wales

Idk where I got this from it's just always been there

but if I may

can I propose German Remus? cause I can see it yk

Sirius— French/Italian, born in italy and lived there for a bit, then moved to England

Idk which parent would be which bc I honestly don't care enough about Orion or Wallburga, but I have converted to Italian Black brothers and I couldn't give it up Im telling you

it's just too perfect

Sirius would lean more into learning Italian than French but would be fluent in both, as well as English

his accent is strong but he's good at covering it

Regulus— same as Sirius, French/Italian, but born and raised in France

Id like to think Orion and wallburga were separated for a bit bc they couldn't tolerate each other's bullshit LMAO so they both separated(without anyone knowing ofc) and took the boys to France and Italy for a bit until they had to show their faces together a couple years later

So regulus is ofc fluent in French, as well as Italian, but he doesn't have as strong of an Italian accent, as well as English ofc

he also stopped using Italian a lot more after Sirius left

James— HE'S EITHER INDIAN/BENGALI OR CUBAN/PUERTO RICAN

there's no in between for me he's either Desi or Hispanic LOL (I mean he can be both ofc he can but I always see him as one or the other)

He's fluent in Spanish or Bengali and knows some hindu (but his parents were from West Bengal and Bangladesh so they mainly speak Bengali) and English

But sorry y'all, despite this, his spice tolerance is not great, sue me(/lh)

he still eats it all anyway bc all that food is DELICIOUS OMG(I love food, can you tell)

he was born and raised in England tho

Peter— I think he's Scottish for some reason, born and raised

and he has an accent too hehehe

sorry Peter, you're quite simple when it comes to this imo 😔🎀

Barty— we've all decided he was Italian haven't we

but but what if I hit you with Italian/German barty

I saw it in a post the other day and I loved it LMAO

he was born and raised in Italy but moved to England in his teens

can speak Italian, and German fluently, his English is good but his accents are all over the place at times

Evan— exactly the same as Pandora, Mexican/French or Brazilian/French

Frank— tell me why I see him as Asian (probably bc of Frank from Percy Jackson but that's not my fault—)

but he'd probably be half Chinese and half English

born and raised in England

Lucius— Russian or French, or half and half

it just seems right to me

he was born in raised in Russia until he was ten, then he moved to France, and then finally, they ended up in England for him to go to Hogwarts

fluent in Russian and French, and his English is good enough to get by, his accent is THICK though

Snape(I just realized.... we don't call him by his first name do we 💀)— but ummmm hm

Italian/English

born and raised in England and does not speak Italian

Xenophilius— french, born and raised

can speak French fluently as well as English

Rodolphus(Lestrange)— I can't remember what exactly me and my friend hc them as but ik he was half Romanian

(I think the other half was Russian)

Rabastan(Lestrange)— same as his brother

and... I think that's everyone

everyone that we rlly talk about anyways LMAO

this was a long one hehe

OMG SO SO SO COOL THNAK YOUU FOR TELLING MEEE

I agree with a lot of these hehe

I get where you're coming from with Bellatrix, I've somehow always seen her as part italian for some reason lol, cus of the whole affair thing that I completelyyyy agree withhh

And yeah rita is Definitely American, any idea what state she could be from? I feel like she could also be german/American just for fun

I think xenophilius would be French but I also think he'd maybe be some other European country, maybe like Belgium or maybe Greece? hehe

I LLOVEE THE IDEA OF SIRIUS AND REG BEING ITALIAN AND FRENCH OMG

but sadly I kinda don't think it fits a bit ? IDKK

but yes it absolutely works I'm just veryy used to French black brothers loll

hehe ^_^

[thestarwarslesbian]

How my west wing AU is coming along-

So Far so good.

I wrote the chapter 1 summary yesterday.

The entire White House staff bristles with activity when it’s learned that the President (Breha Organa) injured herself during a bicycle accident, and her absence becomes a factor as chief of staff Mace Windu must juggle a host of impending crises, including a mass boat lift of Cuban refugees approaching the Florida coast and the reaction of conservative Christians to a controversial televised comment by deputy chief of staff Padmé Amidala. Meanwhile, Cody Fett, the trouble-prone deputy communications director, unknowingly spends the night with a call girl (Satine Kryze) and then makes another critical error during a children’s White House tour. 

I just finished assining characters.

Main cast 

Cody Fett [Sam Seaborn], Deputy White House Communications Director 

Luminara [Mandy Hampton], Media Consultant 

Thorn Fett [Charlie Young], Personal Aide to the President 

Fox Fett [C. J. Cregg], White House Press Secretary 

Riyo Chuchi [Toby Ziegler], White House Communications Director 

Mace Windu [Leo McGarry], White House Chief of Staff 

Padme Amidala [Josh Lyman], White House Deputy Chief of Staff 

Breha Organa [Josiah Bartlet], President of the United States 

Bail Organa [Abbey Bartlet], First Lady of the United States 

Recurring cast 

Anakin Skywalker [Donna Moss], assistant to Padme 

Ponds Fett [Margaret Hooper], Assistant to Chief of Staff Windu 

Depa Billaba [Dolores Landingham], President Organa's executive secretary 

Yan Doku [Danny Concannon], senior White House correspondent for The Washington Post 

Leia Organa [Zoey Bartlet], the youngest of the President's three daughters 

Calab Dum [Mallory O'Brien], Leo McGarry's son 

Adi Gallia [Admiral Percy Fitzwallace], Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff 

Shaak Ti [John Hoynes], Vice President of the United States 

Satine Kryze [Laurie], law student and part-time high priced call girl Sam sleeps with in the pilot. 

Hera Sendulla [Gina Toscano], the Secret Service agent assigned to Leia 

Bo-Katan Kryze [Joey Lucas], a Democratic political consultant 

Thrie Fett [Andrea Wyatt], Congresswoman from Maryland's 5th district and ex-husband of Riyo Chuchi 

[andreabaideas]

Any headcanons for Bernie from DJATS? She's just so underrated, and one of my favorite DJATS ladies.

Yes!! And I agree, she IS tragically underrated.

Bernie comes from workers class and a "Bad" conflictive district of sorts.

She knows how to fight and self defense on a lethal level.

Her parents are divorced.

Her mother IS a religious and very conservative woman , she never accepted her, her tomboyish look, her love for "new" music, her sexuality, so as a result they barely speak now.

On the contrary , her father always wanted a boy, but never had It, so when he saw his daughter was kinda tomboyish and seemed to look for too long at other girls, he was (unlike other people in those times) Happy, and he just put her the "boy/ like a boy" tag... Not the healthiest,tbh, but he came to love her for how she truly is, so she doesn't complain.

Because of that he taught her how to fight, how to smoke cigars & how to distinguish the good quality (cuban) ones, how to fly fish, ...even how to shave! (In her case her legs instead of her face, but...yeah XD)

It was weirder when she came out, as he wanted to teach her how to woo a lady properly. She expected the worst, but just got overall weirdness and eternal embarrassment XD.

He adored Simone when he met her.

Bernie has never hid since she came out as a teen, she is free, and she is a very Lgbtiq+ activist.

Bernie was known in her Bad street as the boyish one, so when someone from that zone was LGBT, always went to speak or come out to her first...In the end she organized groups of black lgtbiq+ and queer youngs there.

Her best friend is a bisexual Asian girl, Yumiko. She was mistreated by her First boyfriend at their high school, so Bernie beat the crap out of him, he left her, and as a result she IS well respected - and kinda feared- by everyone of her district.

She is very afraid of spiders, Its tragic.

She hates conventionalisms and boring common people.

She loved Simone at first sight.

She loves everything about her , minus her fear and her people pleaser tendencies.

She likes Daisy, because she IS kinda insane, which she loves.

She likes Karen, because she feels Karen IS a fellow feminist and similar to her. "Its like a White Barbie versión of me" or "I never thought i'd like a Karen".

She IS very independent so she disliked music labels , as they "enslave" musicians and destroy their creativity.

That's It!

[conjuremanj]

Ogou Or Ogun. Spirits Of Iron In African Diaspora.

This is Papa Ogou one of many in the Ogou nation.

Ogou is a Nago spirit from the Nago Nation these spirits came to Haiti from Africa. they are strong spirits and used with the Asson or Tcha Tcha (rattle) there personality falls between Rada and Petro.

Now some might think, " Isn’t there a spirit like this in Lukumi ? ” Yes. There is, He is Ogun an Orisha. One of few Orishas who made it outside of Africa and who has some similarities with Ogou: In Haitian Vodou and Santeria and so on. They both are associated with iron and metal. Ogun is more of a blacksmith, whereas Ogou is more of a soldier.

When you hold a knife, railroad spike, sword or horseshoe in your hand and you're holding Ogun or Ogou. Ogun is also the patron of anyone who works with metal.

This spirit is great even if your practicing hoodoo because he can protect you help you even help increase your energy in your workings.

There are also many Ogous in Haiti, like Ogou Kriminel, Ogou La Flambeau, Ogou Feray, Ogou Badagris, Ogou Shango, to name a few. He is also associated with a particular region of Nigeria, and is often depicted as an older soldier there names in Cuban Santeria (La Regla Lucumi) he is known as Ogun, or Oggun; In Brazilian Candomble.

The name Ogou is not the same name like in Africa but is actually a title used to describe warriors and they also carry a machete, but some favor a sword. There colors are red and blue, but some Ogous take additional colors like green or khaki. Remember: if you can’t afford anything other color to wear, you can always use a (white scarf to salute any spirit.)

Ogoun Ferraille, aka Papa Ogou Feray in New Orleans, this warrior lwa is the primary figure of Saint James the Greater—the saint himself riding into battle on a white horse. He is sometimes also represented by Saints Andrew, Martin Caballero, some use Saint Peter and John the Baptist any many others depending on which African diasporic religion you want to practice.

He is the chief of all the warrior paths of Ogun durning the Haitian revolution which gave the colors to the Haitian flag.

Orisha Ogun

INVOKED:

Ogun or Ogou is invoked to heal diseases affecting blood, including AIDS, leukemia, and sickle-cell anemia. He is invoked for safety and success before surgery. He also heals infertility and erectile dysfunction. Request his protection from crime and criminals. He also help finds employment for devotees.

Ogou is usually syncretized to Saint James the Greater but may also can be associated with Michael Archangel and Saints Andrew, any many others depending on which African diasporic religion you want to practice.

He is a works tirelessly at the forge, in the bedroom, and on behalf of his devotees. He never rests.

He will use his machete to cut away all evil and sweep your enemies away. But he is also a tender and loving Papa. I’ve will cry when his children are in pain. Ogou also loves the ladies and he is one of the most commonly married lwa.

ATTRIBUTES: A machete, a three-legged iron cauldron, traditionally wrapped in chains and filled with iron implements, including tools, spikes, nails, and knives👇

SPIRIT COLOURS: Red, black, sometimes green, sometimes red and white (the colors of heated iron), or blue and red (the colors of the Haitian flag) or Green and black for Ogun. But can always wear white if you don't have the other colors.

OFFERINGS: Red candles, cigars, rum, whisky, aguardiente, or other alcoholic beverage— incense, metal, chains, metal tools, railroad spikes. He likes red beans and rice, and typically likes Florida water as a cologne.

Fill a cauldron with found pieces of metal, like rails or railroad spike (not plastic).

He will often blow cigar smoke on people to give them blessings.

He like fire we make a fire for him sometimes on the veve.

So whichever one you're drawn to like Haitian or African spirits, there's no spirit better to have for protecting than Ogun. Except, St. Michael or God of course 😃

Everyone needs a warrior. Ogun is his name among the Yoruba people. Among the Fon he is called Gu. In Cuban Santeria (La Regla Lucumi) he is known as Ogun, or Oggun; In Brazilian Candomble , Ogum; in Haiti’s Vodou and New Orleans Voodoo Papa Ogou, or simply Ogou.

Feast Day: He is syncretized with St. Peter whose feast day is June 29, St. James whose feast is July 25th, and St. Michael whose feast is Sept. 29th.

[tkblythofficial]

I respect y'all thirsting after T cause he cute for a white boy but I'm a sapphic myself and R is sooo 🫠🥵🫡 I WANT HER no cap

I can't believe how much the boar is winning by having a gorgeous and talented gf like R. jealousy is a disease and i fucking have it

I've heard R is pan so I be counting my blessings that one day she dates a lady, I just need to move my ass to the east coast. I hope she likes femmes (Im also a theater kid and black latina 🇨🇺 🤭)

Not the cuban flag!! 😭😭😭

She does like hot though! She lowkey eats up everyone but no one’s ready for that convo 🤭

[hikertrashprincess]

FT Day 9

1/10/24

We were in no rush to leave town. I had brought along a town outfit so I took on the responsibility of doing laundry. There was a laundromat across the street, but I had to go on an adventure to get detergent and then quarters. The laundromat was attached to a cafe, and I bought a latte. I asked her for quarters and she gave me $6 but couldn’t give me more because she needed it for laundry. It turned out she owned the laundromat and ended up taking the quarters back and starting the machine for me.

Morpheus and I have been taking on amateur masseuse and chiropractic techniques as we try to help each other recover from the pain that it thru hiking. We call it .50 Calropratic.

We back to Walmart for some forgotten items, then left the hotel and went next door to a Mexican restaurant that smelled delicious.

When we stepped into the restaurant we were actually teleported to Mexico. Lewiston in general looked and felt like a different country, with significant Cuban influence but very multicultural and racially diverse. It was a really cool town, especially after seeing only 90% white towns along every other trail. I really enjoyed getting to practice my Spanish and we tried to enjoy unfamiliar drinks and snacks. We both tried a “aloe vera bebida” that looked very refreshing but actually contained large chunks of aloe vera pulp. Neither of us enjoyed that, but it was still a good adventure.

The restaurant was not a taco restaurant as we expected but an array of unlabeled dishes. Morpheus ordered first and a women next to us was quickly stepped in to help with translation. I did a semester abroad in Mexico, but I still didn’t know or forgot the names of all the dishes, which added to the confusion. When it was my turn to order the lady said my Spanish was “better,” which felt nice even though she notably did not say it was “good.”

We enjoyed taquitos (flautas) and gorditas. The gorditas were particularly tasty. Then we started to walk.

Morpheus realized very quickly that over the last year his feet had adapted and his go to hiking shoes were tearing up his feet. He finally changed into crocs but by the time we got to camp his pinky toes were rubbed raw.

It was a painful evening for him and discouraging for both of us as we pondered our options. New shoes have been ordered but we will likely have to take time off until his feet can heal a bit and the shoes arrive.

We chatted a bit with our neighbor at the tent site, a lovely woman who recently became a grandmother. She is a blueberry farmer on the summer in Canada and then hikes somewhere new every year. She has done hiking in the Himalayas and the TA that goes across New Zealand. Her favorite was The Israel Trail.

We said goodnight to her and watched an episode of Avatar the Last Airbender before sleep.